


Dori's Mighty Heart

by in_a_blog_in_the_ground



Series: Brothers Three [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_blog_in_the_ground/pseuds/in_a_blog_in_the_ground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dori-centric fic, because I have a lot of feelings about the Brothers Ri, and Dori does not get enough love. Sure he’s a fusspot and a mother hen, but there are many reasons for that. So let him fuss a little and mother a little, and enjoy his tea and the finer things in life. He gaddamn deserves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dori looked up from his gardening, happy to have finished with the weeding, as he had hoped. The sun is warm, Nori is snoring inside, back, more or less in one piece, from another harebrained adventure, and Ori, kind enough to keep him company, is humming happily to himself, no doubt sketching the caterpillar making its way across his pad.

Thinking back on how long and difficult the road was to get to this point, Dori sips his tea, and can’t help but sigh with contentment.

—

All he remembers of the flight from Erebor is the fire. The flames and heat. His mother crying. There was so much noise it all blended together into a horrible cacophony that made his chest hurt.

Bouncing on his mother’s back, he remembers the crush of bodies as they made for the front hall. The only sound that remains clear in his mind is a jarring thud simultaneous with the grisly snap of crushed bone and meat. He is glad his eyes were shut.

Finally out onto the charred fields, they hide and wait. Terrible screams echo from the mountain. His father never comes out. None who were at the forges deep in the halls do.

Joining a band of refugees, they strike out for Ered Luin, led by survivors from the line of Durin. They pass through many settlements on their way to the Blue Mountains. Dwarves from their party trickle away, taken in by relatives or friends. In one of these villages, Dori waves goodbye to Oin, a playmate on the trail; his mother is heavy with child and needs a place to settle down. Holding his own mother’s hand, Dori rejoins the travelers.

The following years are spent similarly, moving with the refugees from town to town, never staying long in any. More often than not the nights are spent camping on the plains. One such night, Dori’s mother tells him he’s going to have a little brother. Dori is excited, and does not think very long on how this came to be. On a clear evening when the party is camped on the banks of a swift river, Dori’s mother suddenly sucks in a painful breath and doubles over. “Help, help!” young Dori cries at her side, looking around him in panic. The dwarves quickly move into action. Dori is shunted to the side. A comforting arm draws around his shoulders, and he looks up into the kindly face of the elder Son of Fundin. “There, there laddie. Your mother’s strong and brave. She will be just fine.”

And she is. Soon, the wail of a babe is heard, and smiles can be seen on the faces of the weary travelers. Balin pats Dori on the head, and laughs as the young dwarf dashes to his mother’s side. On his way over to her, Dori hears the whispers of the some of the elders: “A dwarf should not be born under the sky…a strange one, this will be…trouble…should have waited in the last town…at least there would have been a roof.” Dori snorts at the superstitious mutterings, and slides in next to his mother and the squirming bundle in her arms. “Darling Dori, meet your new brother,” his mother whispers. “What should we name him?”

Little Dori thinks hard. “Well. I’m Dori, for I was born during day. He was born at night, so let’s name him Nori!”

His mother hugs him tight. “Nori it is then.”

Dori looks down at his baby brother, now quietly sleeping. He loves him with all his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warm fuzzies! Then tragedy…but things will be ok?

They find cheap lodging at an inn in the next village. Dori’s mother is tired of traveling, and caring for the baby is taking its toll on her. Balin waves goodbye to the small family before cresting the hill to rejoin his brother and the Heirs.

Their mother pays their way at the inn working as a barmaid, a dishwasher, a launderer, a seamstress; whatever jobs need doing. Dori finds work as a runner, taking messages to and fro. The scribe at the post center is a gentle fellow, and kind; always with a word of encouragement for the tired runners, and a hidden bag of sweets under the piles of papers. He meets Dori’s mother when she comes to pick him up one evening. Holding baby Nori, Dori watches as they speak. He likes that the quiet scribe can make his mother smile.

Soon enough, Dori finds himself more often than not taking messages from the scribe to his own doorstep; small notes for his mother to read and smile at, at the end of her day. By morning, a response is left on his nightstand for him to take back. Eventually a very special note is delivered, and Dori, Nori, and their mother prepare to move out of the inn and into the scribe’s humble home. By now, Nori can no longer be considered a toddling child, but growing into a tough lad, though lean where Dori is broad, and Dori has grown strong enough to take on work apprenticing as a carpenter. Dwarven courting does take ever such a long time.

By winter of the following year, a third child is ready to join the family. The scribe has knitted warm hats, mittens and scarves for his two sons, and is working on another, smaller set for the third on his way. But with the good news comes bad. A violent sickness has been sweeping the Blue Mountains. The dwarves begin calling it the Dragon’s Breath for the fever that comes with it burns through the body like fire, and is often the cause of death.

The scribe catches it first, from the travelers that come through the posting square. As soon as he realizes, he makes a decision and writes one final note. He leaves; walks into the storm enclosing the town so he cannot threaten his family. They find his body in the spring.

The Dragon is merciless, and does not pity the brave. Despite everything, Dori’s mother too soon burns with fever, and she cannot hold the baby any longer. The birth is swift and painful. She holds her newborn son, his name on her lips, but her breath is so faint Dori and Nori do not hear the first sound before she passes.

Dori takes up his baby brother as Nori, still hardly tall enough to reach over the bed, covers their mother. “Our brother shall be Ori,” he murmurs. Nori says nothing, but glares at the child with wet and angry eyes. He turns his back and sits beside his mother, willing her to wake. Dori cleans and dresses Ori in the knitted jumper his father finished before the Dragon’s Breath claimed him, and lays him in the center of his bed. Tucking a sheet like a nest around the sleeping babe so he doesn’t shift, Dori goes back to his mother’s room. Finding Nori curled against her cold side, Dori picks him up, surprised he is unresisting, and instead of bringing him to his own room, carries him to his. As he rolls him into bed beside the baby, Nori’s eyes open. Terrified for a moment that he made the wrong decision, Dori watches, frozen, as Nori’s red eyes widen and his hand extends over the slumbering child. A pause, and Nori is sobbing and pulling Ori to his chest, as gentle as Dori has ever seen him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he thinks he hears through Nori’s sobs. Wedging himself between the headboard and his brothers, Dori wraps his arms around both and holds them tight. His tears fall only when Nori has slipped back into a restless slumber, and through his grief he thinks only of his brothers, for he loves them with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh I'm really bad at correctly-corresponding timelines/ages, so I'm just gonna mention the relative ages (in human years) of our heroes here: Dori's about mid/late-teens? Nori's no older than 10, and Ori is obviously brand-shiny-new


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori’s in loooove. But then, of course, life gets in the way…

Time passes. The Dragon’s Breath scours the land, but is swept away by the fiercer wind of summer. Dori has attracted the attention of the daughter of a blacksmith. Her beard is fair, her shoulders broad, her arms strong. Dori brings her father beams to bind, carrying them in one by one without aid, and finds himself making excuses to stay. They are just beginning to truly court when the call to reclaim Moria comes.

Dori’s heart leaps at the chance to prove himself to the blacksmith’s daughter, and enters her father’s forge to be fitted for war when Nori bursts in, panting and terrified. He cries Ori is starting to look like their mother did when the Dragon’s Breath began to burn her. Slinging the exhausted Nori upon his back, Dori rushes for home without a second thought. He cannot lose another. Ori is burning with fever, and Dori quickly brews medicine left over from his mother’s illness, sending Nori, breath recovered now, for the herbalist. The next few days are tense; Dori never leaves Ori’s side.

With his surprising intuition, Nori always seems to know what his brothers need; leaving, he returns with food, unevenly folded towels and blankets, hot water, and occasionally, inexpertly brewed tea. Dori accepts it all with grateful but tired smiles and open arms.

With his brothers’ constant care, Ori slowly recovers, and one sunny morning, opens his eyes. He sees his brothers curled on either side of him, and giggling, pats them each on the nose, closing his eyes again when he sees them stir. His continued giggling gives him away as the culprit. Looking at each other over their youngest brother, Dori and Nori break into relieved grins, and fall to tickling little Ori. The house rings with laughter for the first time in many months.

With a start, Dori realizes today is the day the warriors are leaving for Moria. Bundling Ori on his back, and holding Nori’s hand, Dori heads for the center of town where the lines are forming up. Across the square, he sees his beloved hugging and kissing her father, brothers, and uncle. They have all answered the call. He tries to meet her eyes, to offer her comfort, but she will not look his way. Down-hearted, Dori leads his brothers home.

Word comes. The battle is over, the dwarfs victorious, but Moria is not won. Of the Heirs, only Thorin, now called Oakenshield, has returned alive, along with his champions, the mighty Sons of Fundin, but many others have not. Dori makes his way to his beloved’s home, but she slams the door in his face and calls him coward, furious that he should live, and her father, brothers, and uncle do not. They do not speak again, and she soon leaves for the Iron Hills, never to return.

Some nights later, Dori is reading to Ori in front of the fire when Ori suddenly jumps up and runs to the door. He tries to tug it open, but Dori has to help. It opens and Ori gasps, his little hands covering his mouth. Standing before them is Nori, but he won’t turn his face towards the light. He doesn’t have to for his brothers to see the blood; how his careful braids are all undone, including his beard, which has just started to become long enough; how his clothes are ripped and covered in mud and worse. Little Ori starts crying, he doesn’t understand. Nori tries to hush him, but doesn’t want to get him filthy, so Dori puts him to bed before tending to Nori. At first Nori won’t speak, but finally tells him what happened.

“Was getting’ vegetables at the market, like yus tol’ me to, an’ some other kids sor me, an’ they said yus a coward. I couldn’t ‘ave that, sos I trounced ‘em. But they won.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Nori. Don’t go getting hurt on my behalf now. But thank you.”

A proud sniff. “Dori,” Nori continues tentatively when Dori is finished patching him up, “…is yus a coward?”

Dori stiffens, then sighs. “I…I like to think I didn’t go for the right reasons.”

Nori thinks. “Then yus not a coward,” he declares. “I am though…” he goes on, shamefully. “I ran, I did. It hurt. I didn’t trounce ‘em at all, I ran.” Tears start to roll down his face as he begins to cry in earnest.

Dori is quick to pull him close. “No no no,” he whispers, “you are not the coward…”

He does not know that it is not himself, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Nori sounds different here because I reckon he's really adaptable and picks up accents quickly, even at a young age, so he's talking in weird street slang/accent he picked up from the other kids who come from all over. Later in life he'll settle into that Cockney-type voice, though I'm sure he'll be able to bust out with whatever dialect is common in the region he's in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new employment opportunity arises.

After the Battle of Azanulbizar, jobs are hard to come by. Many families move away, to band together with relatives, or to escape from painful memories. So many were lost before Moria’s gates.

Dori trudges home, past the empty shops, the cold forges, no longer ringing with hammers and the calls of smiths appraising each other’s work, whether the other wants it or not. It has been another fruitless day at the carpenter’s; no one needs anything built. He jingles the meager coins in his hands and wonders how long they can last as he heads into the last bakery still open, hoping to buy a stale loaf for his brothers’ supper.

“’Lo, Olan,” Dori calls as he enters.

“Dori, lad!” the baker returns. “It’s good to see you! Come for a loaf? You’ll be my first customer today.”

Dori blinks. The sun is almost down. “Er, yes. I’m afraid I don’t have much though, no calls at the carpenter’s today. Will this be enough for one? Or two, if they’re, um. Not…quite as fresh?”

Olan looks at the coins and sighs. “Here lad, just take these,” exchanging two not-unfresh loaves for the money. He is not an unkind dwarf. “I know ye’ve got the two young’uns at home.”

“Thank you very much! Very much indeed. I’ll come back and make it up to you when I have more coin,” Dori takes the loaves gratefully.

“That’s alright, lad, no need to fret,” Olan chuckles and waves his hand. “After all, you are my most loyal customer! Ho ho.” Despite his smile, a shadow of doubt crosses Olan’s face as he seems to consider something.

Not noticing, Dori smiles back, and packs the loaves into his rucksack, preparing to head home.

“Wait, Dori!” Olan calls as Dori moves for the door. “Oh. I…I don’t know if I should tell you this, but…you’re not a wee lad, I’ve seen you shift a wagon upright, you could do well, I think…”

Puzzled, Dori returns to the counter. “What are you going on about, mate?”

“Ooh,” Olan looks pained. “Look. I know of a place you can earn some extra money. It might not be much at first, but if you do well, the winning pots are big. You’re a hardy dwarf, hardier than most! Oh, but it’s just not really in your nature, is it?”

“What is? What exactly are you talking about, Olan?”

“Fights! Prize-fighting. There’s an underground ring in the Shades. Don’t ask me how I know.” Olan is looking decidedly wretched now.

Stepping back, Dori looks away from his friend and considers. The Shades. A most disreputable part of town. Dori had never been through it; while still a runner, the scribe made sure that he never had to carry scripts meant for the Shades. Both Men and Dwarves would patronize the establishments there to “conduct business” and “seek company”. And it was true: though strong in both heart and body, Dori was not by nature a fighter nor inclined to violence. His favorite parts of the journey to Ered Luin were when they came across new plants he could brew into teas, or when he could simply sit and enjoy the weather. Still, times were different now. Nori was old enough to care for Ori if Dori had to come home later now, too. He could- he would make this work.

“I’ll do it.”

“Of course! It was a stupid idea, I never should have said anything-what.” Olan, wringing his hands on his apron, stops and stares at Dori. There is a difference in his friend’s posture.

“Where do I go?”

Stammering, Olan tells him the time and location of the next fight. Thanking him, Dori walks out the door. He has a lot to think about on the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DWARF FIGHT CLUB. No, not really. More like an underground MMA ring. It's mostly Dwarves fighting, but also some Men. They're pitted against each other, as well as wild dogs, boars, and sometimes monitor lizards. The fighters are managed by handlers that take a cut of the winnings and form kind of gangs to keep some sort of order and provide a certain amount of protection if an individual gets into trouble with another crew or something. Handlers try to recruit the best fighters to build the strongest crews. Something like that. The politics of this whole thing are not crucial, but that was the basics. Anyway, definitely not a reputable association or vocation, but times are tough :/ I'm sure many of the other fighters are in a similar situation to Dori.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Fight Night

After instructing Nori on how to heat the night’s supper, Dori leaves his brothers on a “special carpentry assignment”. His steps take him to the Shades. 

Entering a dimly lit pub, he approaches the barkeep and mutters a word in his ear. The Man jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards some stairs. Descending, Dori holds his breath against the stink of sweat, blood, beer, and bile rising from the cellar. But it is not just a cellar.

These were the Pits.

Reaching the bottom, Dori lowers his hood to stare at the madness. A huge room stretches before him. It covers at least a block and is filled with Men and Dwarves, shouting and pushing around rings –more like pens, really- lined with sand and sawdust in which Dwarves, and a few Men, fought against dogs, giant vicious lizards, and each other. Trembling, Dori shrinks back, wide-eyed and terrified. He couldn’t do this. What was this? This was insanity. This was a mistake. Backing up, he stumbled for the stairs, and ran right into a barrel-chested Dwarf. 

Roaring, the dwarf grabs him by the cloak and slams him into a beam. “Righ’, you lit’le bastard, no one stands in the way of Gord the Hammer! Lads, looks like I found my first fight!” Laughing, two of the dwarves following Gord haul Dori after their leader. 

Arriving at an empty ring, the blood just barely visible under the fresh sawdust, the dwarves throw Dori in. Shaking, he stands and unclasps his cloak, letting it drop to the floor. He sees Gord speaking to a Man, and enters the ring after angrily pushing the Man aside. “Seems you’ve disrupted my line-up tonight, little ant. But nobody argues with Gord the Hammer.”

Dori’s last thought before realizing Gord’s fist was rapidly approaching his face was how silly one’s name sounded if one said it too many times.  
He dropped low, almost in a full bow, and quickly skipped to the side. 

Thrown off by the lack of solid resistance, Gord stumbled, and almost spun. The fury mixed with surprise on his large, dull face was almost comical enough to make Dori snort. The situation would have been much more humorous if he was not the one in the ring with the angry dwarf. 

Bellowing, Gord charged Dori. Once again, Dori hopped aside easily. He realized he was much faster than the larger dwarf. Size difference aside, his years as a runner had made him light on his feet. On the next pass Gord made, Dori once again evaded, but this time, tapped Gord on the back of the head with his fist. The Hammer went down on his face into the sand. A roar exploded around him, and Dori looked up into the shocked, enraged, and elated faces of the crowd he had not realized had been there. 

Distracted, he almost missed Gord rising, blood streaming from his nose, arms coming up to encircle him in a crush. Panicking, Dori pounded at Gord’s torso with his fists, hoping he wouldn’t get caught. With each blow, already solid, but made stronger by Dori’s panic, the breath was forced out of Gord. In moments, he was back in the sand, wheezing and hacking. The fight was over. 

The crowd whooped and screamed! An officious looking Dwarf hopped the fence and held Dori’s arm high. “Th’ winner!” he announced, “Er…say, lad, wot’s yer name? ‘oo jah fight for?”

“D-Dori,” our victor stammered out, “And I…don’t fight for anyone?” Confused, he wasn’t sure what the other dwarf meant.

“Huh. Right then…New lad Doriiii! Beating out Gord the Hammer. And wot a washed up lot ‘e was too, eh?” Cackling, the announcer played to the crowd as Gord was dragged out of the ring by two of his companions. The Man he had talked to before the fight glowered in the shadow of a beam. 

Dori fought twice more that night, and twice more he won. Exhausted, worn, but holding a modest bag of winnings, he set out for home as the light of the new day washed over the Shades. 

He started as a Man pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on and casually walked into Dori’s path. 

“P-pardon,” Dori stammered, moving to get around the Man.

“Noice foightin’ in there,” the Man remarked, seeming not to have heard. He stayed firmly in Dori’s path. “See ya’ve won yerself a pret’y pouch. Not bad fer a first noight.”

“Yes.” Dori recognized the Man now. He had been speaking to Gord before their fight. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“You see,” the Man interrupted, “yor new ‘ere. You don’t know ‘ow this works. Oi can forgive that, we all start somewhere.” He offered Dori a snaggle-toothed grin. “But th’ fing is, you’ve lost me a great deal of money tonight. Gord was one of me best foighters, and a newcomer beats ‘im in the first round! ‘E’s worffless now. I’ve, uh, cut ‘im loose. That means, ‘owevah, Oi’ve got an empty space in moy bracket. Tell ya wot. You come an’ foight fer me…an Oi won’t end yer promisin’ new career early.” At this, another Man and three swarthy-looking Dwarves stepped out of the shadows around Dori. 

Keeping one eye on the Man before him, he took note of the other figures. Unexpectedly, he found he was not afraid. 

“I see.” Dori looked the Man in the eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have to reject your generous offer.”

“’S’a pit’y ,” The Man shrugged. “Boys.”

The gang leapt forward, and Dori moved. 

Dori was not a fighter. It was not in his heart. When he fought, there was no fierce light in his eyes, no rage, no lust for glory and blood. Instead, there was a cool and calculating malice, which was often just as terrifying. With every blow he gave and received, with every tumble in the sand, he thought of Nori: clever, and sensitive, and angry; and Ori: so smart and sweet. He never forgot who he was fighting for, for he loved them with all his heart. 

When the Man’s gang leapt for his throat, he simply shifted, and two of the dwarves cracked together before they even realized he had moved. 

Dori spun and took out the third dwarrow with a surging uppercut that knocked him through the air and into a stack of boxes. 

Ducking as the oncoming Man swung a club, Dori grabbed his arm as it passed over his head and pulled, flipping the Man using his own momentum. The unfortunate attacker landed heavily and sprawled, unconscious.

Turning back to the first two dwarves, still shaking their heads from the collision, Dori planted his heels in the ground, wrapped his fists in their shirt collars, bent his knees, and pushed up, bodily throwing them both against the opposite wall. 

The entire encounter had lasted no longer than the time it takes to puff out a smoke ring.

Eyes hard, Dori turned towards the terrified handler. 

The Man was backing up, his eyes wide, hand groping for the knife at his belt. Too scared to take his gaze off Dori, he tripped over a crate and fell backwards, the knife skittering away. The next moment, Dori was kneeling on his chest.

“What are you called?”

“N-Nexel, sir dwarf, oh, please, don’t ‘urt me! ‘M sorry, Oi am! Oi didn’ know ‘oo you was! Oh spare me, please, sir dwarf! Oi…Oi’ve got coin! It’s yors, all yors, please jus’ let me go!” The Man was practically sobbing in fear.

“Stop sniveling, it is unbecoming.” Nexel sniffed hard, trying to get himself under control. Dori was still on his chest, glaring at him. “I expect we will see much of each other in the future, so I would like to take this opportunity to make some things clear. I am Dori, Son of Jori, born of Erebor. I will not take your dirty coin now, as I expect fully to win it off your men in the ring, especially if this lot is any example of your selection. I fight for no one. You will do well to remember that. As will the rest of you,” At this last, Dori raised his voice, for the street had filled with people, drawn by the ruckus. “We will not be having this conversation again, Nexel, Son of Man.”

Getting off Nexel’s chest, and not looking at the crowd around him, Dori strode away, hoping no one would see how his knees and shoulders shook with the effort it took to stay upright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't threaten Dori. Especially when he's fighting for his family. Seriously, it's a bad idea. Good thing he has such a strong moral character, otherwise that guy and his goons would have been paste on the walls. Don't fuck with Dori.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nori suspects something...
> 
> -Just a very short chapter (this barely counts as a chapter, sorry) while I tidy up the next bit.

When Dori got home, he found Nori already up, sitting outside the front door, a slim blade flicking across his fingers. He’s getting good at that, Dori thought. Nori’s quick eyes swept over his brother, noting his exhaustion, the scrapes on his knuckles, the full purse on his belt. 

“That must have been some ‘carpentry job’,” he remarked with a snicker. “Wot, were the planks hittin’ back this time?”

Nori quickly sobered as he took in the look on his older brother’s face. “Wot…wot ‘appened, Dor’? There weren’t an accident, were there? I didn’t mean nuffin’ by it…”

Dori relaxed. He had almost been ready to snap something, even though he knew quips like that were just Nori’s way, but was too spent to find the words or inclination to do so.

“No. Sorry. It’s just been a long night, I’m just a bit worn. Wake me in two turns, I need to meet Dorn then.”

Nori’s brow wrinkled in confusion as he recognized the name of Dori’s foreman. “But didn’t ye jus’ come from him? They don’t have another crew?” 

Dori stiffened. Had he slipped up already? Nori was far too clever. “Er, well, it’s just that we know what we’re doing since we’ve…been doing it.” Dori could have smacked himself for how stupid he sounded, but he was much too tired. He ruffled Nori’s thick hair as he passed by on the way in. “Just…two turns, alright? Don’t forget.”

“Aye.” Chewing on the handle of his knife as he watched his brother’s retreating back, Nori leaned back against the doorframe and thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long a 'turn' is. Call it...an hour and a half? Something like that? Not overly important, just know that two turns is not nearly enough sleep for someone who's been boxing all night and needs to go to a carpentry workshop the next day o.O
> 
> ~Also!~ I was reading a thing someone wrote about the Bonn Hobbitcon that just happened (mad jealous I wasn't there XD) but they mentioned that it was said by Mark Hadlow that it is movie-canon that Dori is a tinkerer/handyman, which I didn't know until today, so I was like...carpenter? Aw yeah, close enough XD


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nori finds he has had the Wrong Idea this whole time XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small note on ages, since it's been a little while now (I got a little confused myself when I was writing this out). Again, in human-equivalent terms. Ok, Ori's like about...3-4 now? Nori's about 13. Dori's like mid-20's.
> 
> And this, I think, is technically the last chapter of this story! Thank you so much for viewing! 
> 
> There will be a little epilogue later, because this story is kind of the background for some upcoming ones I have in mind, so I'm going to try and segue into them.

The following months brought many changes to Dori. 

He left the workshop. A choice had to be made, and Dori could make more money for his brothers as a fighter, but he couldn’t do it on no sleep.

He began braiding his fine, flowing hair closer to his scalp in intricate, close-knit strands. This made it harder for his opponents to grab onto. He noticed silvering at his temples and under his lip, and wondered when that had happened. 

In the Pits, they began calling him “The Bull” for his great strength and the impression of horns his new braids gave as they wrapped around his head. Despite himself, Dori found himself feeling more at home there, gaining respect, and even a few friends, for many of his fellow fighters were in similar straits to himself, and admired him for his fairness in victory, as well as grace in his few defeats. Even many of the more hard-edged regulars gave ground to him, and he was secretly relieved at their grudging acceptance. Since he was affiliated with no one group, he became the unofficial mediator when disputes would inevitably arise. More than once, small gifts of gratitude would find their way to his purse: a knife, a knot, some coin. 

None of these changes in his brother went unnoticed by Nori. As Dori had not revealed to either of this brothers why, this left Nori up to make his own conclusions. He found himself troubled. 

“Dor’,” he began casually one evening, “Ori’s been wonderin’ where you get off to these nights.”

“Has he now?” Dori replied, shrugging into his coat and looking over to where Ori was happily burbling over his bowl of mashed potatoes and greens, paying no attention to his brothers at all. “I thought I told you I had been changed to the night shift.”

“Aye. Which is interestin’ seein’s ‘ow Dorn ain’t laid eyes on ya in weeks.”

Dori ceased wiping Ori’s chin to stare at his middle brother. “Who told you that?”

“Dorn. After I swung by that new barn they’re building, an’ helped fetch nails an’ bring ‘em beer for a while. ‘E says to tell ya hullo from yer old crew, by the by. The day crew. The only crew ‘e’s got workin’.”

Dori could see Nori was getting agitated, and moved in front of him, pushing him towards the kitchen so they wouldn’t disturb Ori, who was looking at his brothers curiously, spoon halfway to mouth.

“Ori, eat your supper, there’s a good lad. Nori, look, I can explain…”

“Ye…ye don’t have to do…what yer doin’, Dori! Not fer us. There’s other ways to make coin, in other towns, maybe, we could move…” In the kitchen now, Nori was sputtering as he tried to look for words. Expressing discomfort intelligibly was not one of his strong suits. 

“Oh, brother, I do, though. It’s not that bad now, to be honest. It was difficult at first, but now I’m used to it,” patting Nori’s shoulder reassuringly, Dori was at once both relieved he didn’t have to keep his prize-fighting career a secret any longer, and baffled as to how Nori, wickedly clever though he was, figured it out. “How, uh, did you know…?”

“I didn’t want to think about it at first,” Nori shuddered in distaste, “but it's obvious. Ye’d go out as the sun set, come home all worn out, barely walkin’ straight, stinkin’ o’ the Shades. An’ I seen some o’ those lads walkin’ wid ya, but they always turn back when they get close. If any one ‘o them’s who put these marks on ya, jus’ give the word, an’ I’ll slice ‘em up some.” As if by magic, one of Nori’s blades appeared in his hands as he unconsciously flicked it across the backs of his fingers, a fierce snarl tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Well, that’s rather the point…” Dori muttered, putting his palms up placatingly as Nori’s scowl deepened, and an audible growling escaped his throat, “but I give better than I get, I promise! Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to bring home purses like the one last night.” Dori had been the victor in a tournament that had lasted a fortnight, and the winning pot had been three times what he usually won during that time. “And those lads are most definitely not the ones leaving marks.” Dori was known to give pointers to young fighters bold enough to ask, and assumed these were the ones Nori had seen with him. They respected his privacy enough to turn away once they reached the street where he lived. 

“Hm. Dirty.” Though still scowling, Nori had at least put the knife away. “Do they like the fancy way ye do yer hair now too, then? An’ I suppose yer,” Nori grimaced as he tried to think how others would see his brother, “pretty enough…?” This proved too much for him as he shuddered and shook his head violently. 

“Wait…” Dori was slowing catching on to what Nori seemed to be referring to. “Nori. What exactly is it that you think I do now?”

“I…Ye…don’t you? Ye go out an’, an’…” Nori waved his hand vaguely as he tried to avoid spelling-out his worst suspicion. 

“Nori. I do not work the Red Shades.” Dori wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or wildly laughing. He felt a strong desire to do both, but refrained as his brother’s face took on a slack-jawed expression of relief, followed by confusion.

“Oh. Good. Then. What?”

Now Dori did chuckle. “I didn’t want to tell you lads. It’s not an…acclaimed profession. I’m a prize-fighter in the Pits. I’m not going to ask how you know, but you do know where I’m referring to, don’t you?”

Nori’s eyes widened as he nodded. “Cor…you? But yer not…” Nori bobbed his fists in the air in front of his nose in the mimicry of a guard position. “’S not in yer nature.”

“It’s true,” Dori signed. “I do not enjoy it, though I am passing fair. My winnings keep gold in our coffers and food in our bellies.”

“Cor…” Nori was still staring up at him in disbelief. “So that’s where yer goin’ now?”

Nodding, Dori finished buttoning up his coat and half turned to go check on Ori back in the common room, but waited for Nori to pick his jaw off the floor. 

“Dori.” Nori was squirming again as he tried to speak. “Wot I said afore, ‘bout you not having to do dirty jobs fer us…I meant it. I mean it fer this too. We can go som’ere else…Or I can help. Ye can teach me ‘ow te fight! I ain’t as big as you, but I’m fast, you know it!”

“No, no, darling, no.” Dori knelt down in front of his brother. This used to bring them eye-to-eye, but now Dori found he had to look up into Nori’s face. He wondered when this had happened, like the silvering of his hair. “Thank you, but really, I’ll be alright. I know the lads there now, I won’t come to any harm. There’s…a certain sort of honor in the Pits. And like I said, I’m good at what I do. We’re all going to be just fine.” Dori kissed Nori’s forehead on the way up as he straightened. 

Following Dori back to the common room, Nori watched as he scooped up a wriggling Ori for a hug and set him back down before heading out the door. One last question popped into Nori’s head as it began to swing shut.

“Dori! Have…have you ever fought The Bull?”

Dori laughed uproariously and gasped out an answer.

“Little Brother…I AM The Bull.”

The sight of Nori’s eyes like dinner dishes and his jaw dropping open for not the first time that night kept Dori chuckling all the way to the Shades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roooooooxanne. Haha, no, Nori, Dori is not a hooker. Ok, obviously the Red Shades refers to the red light district of the Shades. Where Dori does NOT work XD
> 
> I reckon he knows some of the people who do though, since he's actually pretty well connected now. He probably buys them drinks every now and again when he wins a big pot, cuz he's a good guy like that.


End file.
